


I Look Really, Really Good on You

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lydia Martin, Based on a Tumblr Post, Derek Loves Stiles, Derek is a Failwolf, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Oral Sex, Pining Derek, Stiles Loves Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Derek already knew he was going to regret this decision. He never should have listened to Lydia. It was a stupid costume idea, nobody was going to get it. But she was insistent. And there was something in the tone of her voice that made Derek oddly uncomfortable.</p>
<p>'I’m not wearing those,' he’d flat out refused the pile of immaculately folded clothes she proffered to him. She narrowed her eyes. Something in Derek’s chest went cold as ice as a result.</p>
<p>'You will, and you’ll like it. Or so help me, I will find a way to poison your protein bars with wolfsbane'."</p>
<p>a.k.a. the one where Derek doesn't think Lydia's idea that he dress as Stiles for Halloween is going to have the effect she seems to think it will. Until he sees Stiles' costume. Then it happens to him instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Look Really, Really Good on You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhoNatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoNatural/gifts), [arrafrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrafrost/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Okay, so this is totally the fault of Dylan O’Brien and his hilarious Halloween [Costume](http://teenwolf.tumblr.com/post/65300598760/so-who-won-teen-wolf-halloween-the-shining) , which sent the fandom into fits of unbridled sexual frustration at the sight of his thighs. Also to blame is this awesome post [here](http://berry-muffin.tumblr.com/post/65355731832/stiles-hey-guys-whats-up-scott) , which gave me fluffy Sterek inspiration. So here’s 3k words of it. Happy Halloween!
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek already knew he was going to regret this decision. He never should have listened to Lydia. It was a stupid costume idea, nobody was going to get it. But she was insistent. And there was something in the tone of her voice that made Derek oddly uncomfortable.

“I’m not wearing those,” he’d flat out refused the pile of immaculately folded clothes she proffered to him. She narrowed her eyes. Something in Derek’s chest went cold as ice as a result.

“You will, and you’ll like it. Or so help me, I will find a way to poison your protein bars with wolfsbane.” Given her history, Derek knew she wasn’t kidding. “Not to mention, I can guarantee you that Stiles will love it.” He had to literally fight to restrain the perk of his ears. If Lydia noticed, she gave no sign.

So he growled, and she glared right back at him, before he snatched the clothes from her hands. This would have probably been a simpler process if she’d just led with that.

“Fine,” he’d bit back, drawing a I-don’t-have-time-for-your-shit eyeroll from her.

“Just remember, think _layers_. The hoodie’s optional. You can either wear it or carry it around with you. But the rest you need to have on at all times to complete the ensemble.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small glass phial filled with dark liquid. Derek squinted at it. “This is stage makeup. Use it for the moles.”

“I still don’t think anyone’s gonna get it,” Derek protested still, gingerly pulling the bottle from her grasp. “Don’t people usually wear shit that’s obvious to these things?”

Lydia let out a small, almost haughty chuckle. “Trust me, Mr. Werewolf, it’ll be extremely obvious. In more ways than one.” And with a quick, condescending pat against his face, she was walking away, high heels clicking against the floor as she walked out of the loft and slid the door closed behind her. Derek glared at the folded clothes in his hands. This wasn’t a good idea. Not at all. He didn’t know why he let people talk him into things.

\--

Lydia’s party was in full swing when he pulled up and realized that it wasn’t the small, ‘pack’ party she’d told him it was. It was more like pack _plus_ half the population of Beacon Hills High. When he’d suggested a Halloween party, it was mostly to keep the pack sort of quarantined throughout the night, preferably in a structure ringed in mountain ash, or something, just to keep them safe. For some reason, the thirty-first of October was a night when supernatural creatures of all varieties liked to make a violent appearance, and with a whole contingent of werewolves already running around Beacon Hills on a regular basis, the odds of that happening were exponentially greater.

Still, Derek suddenly wished that Peter had done more killing back when he’d been all rampage-y and psychotic a few years ago. Maybe then there wouldn’t be so many goddamn teenagers in this town. Or at this party. Because what good was trying to keep the pack safe from any potential threats when Lydia invited half of them to the goddamn _rave_ she seemed to be hosting.

With a sigh, and an awkward straightening of the plaid flannel shirt that was draped over his shoulders, he stepped out of the car, and walked toward the Martin house, which was, even without the aid of his werewolf hearing, the loudest goddamn thing on the block.

He was not going to enjoy this.

As he pushed open the door, and was instantly greeted by a sudden rush of noise, a cacophonous amalgamation of laughter, yelled conversations, and the steady, obscenely-loud thump of repetitive club music. Derek fought the urge to jam his claws into his ears and physically tear out his eardrums. It probably would’ve helped if Derek knew they wouldn’t simply grow right back.

And because the smell of cheap booze and too many sweaty teenagers wasn’t bad enough, the first person to bump into Derek and nearly spill the contents of a red solo cup all over his stupid costume was Scott. He was dressed as Han Solo, which Derek probably wouldn’t have got, if he didn’t have Allison wrapped around his arm, playing with the chain that hung from the collar of her Princess Leia costume.

“Whoah, Derek,” Scott’s ridiculous puppy-smile spread across his face. True alpha Derek’s ass. If he didn’t already know Scott was a werewolf, he’d have sworn the teen was drunk. “You look awesome. You need to find Stiles, like immediately.”

At that, Allison chimed in. “Holy crap, wow, yeah. You need to find him. He’s gonna love you.” At that, for some stupid reason, Derek’s heart did some kind of weird little jump in his chest. Scott shot him a knowing look.

“And you’ll certainly _enjoy_ his costume too,” he intoned with a waggle of his eyebrows, that he probably picked up from Stiles. And Derek panicked.

“Why?” he croaked, hating himself for the way his voice cracked. He hoped the loud music covered it up. But based on the wry grin Scott was currently giving him, that was probably not the case. He tried to cover it up with a cough, and repeated the question, pretending it never happened. “Why?” Derek shrugged again, trying desperately to appear nonchalant.

Scott rolled his eyes and shook his head, before leading Allison away, leaving Derek’s question unanswered. “Last I saw him, he was over by the bar.” There was a ridiculous wink, before he turned and disappeared back into the fray with Allison on his arm. Derek hated his life.

Because he totally hadn’t zeroed in on Stiles’ scent the moment he walked into the house. Nope.

He looked around, satisfied that no one was looking directly at him, and that no members of the pack were in sight, before he turned toward the familiar scent and followed it.

He threaded through the apparently labyrinthine maze of Lydia’s house, nudging past groups of drunk, stumbling teenagers, before a firm hand wrapped around his bicep.

“I knew you’d do it wrong.” Derek didn’t even have time to react before Lydia was on him, straightening the ‘I support single moms’ t-shirt underneath the layers she’d told him to think in a few hours ago. She fixed and refolded the collar of the over-shirt, and using a licked finger to touch up one of the moles he’d dabbed at the back of his jaw and down the side of his neck. After trying three times, he thought he’d finally had it right. “Seriously, Derek, if you weren’t even going to _try_ , then why the hell did you even bother in the first place? Where’s the hoodie?”

Derek guffawed, trying not to growl at the encroachment into his personal space, or the insult directed at his costuming skills, or the fact that he left the hoodie in the car. “I did- I definitely did more than _try_ ,” he complained, and Lydia leveled a dubious look at him, totally unconvinced as she adjusted the unbuttoned shirt and smoothed out a wrinkle at his shoulder.

“Please, you made absolutely no attempt to do anything with your hair,” she argued, as if that was the surest sign of half-assed costuming that she could think of. “Or shave. Seriously, what were you thinking?” Derek was seriously contemplating killing her. “Have you seen Stiles yet?”

“No, I was just- I ran into Scott when I walked in. But that’s it. I was looking for him now, actually.”

“Good, I think you’re going to _enjoy_ his costume as much as he’ll love yours.”

“Scott said the same thing,” Derek puzzled, furrowing his brow. “What the hell is he? He didn’t go as a werewolf again, did he?”

He didn’t want a repeat last year’s fiasco, which pretty much started with Stiles following him around making growling noises and constantly saying “bitch, _I’m_ the alpha” with increasing frequency as he got drunker. At some point, as he’d tried to stagger out of the party, almost ended up braining himself on the steps as he made for the exit. Derek had the decency to scoop him up and throw him into his own bed, but not before he’d had reached up, rubbed a palm against his cheek, declared him to be “scruffy Sourwolf,” and promptly passed out. Derek wasn’t sure how he’d felt about that at the time.

Although looking back, he realized that was probably when all his problems began.

Lydia’s answer brought him back to reality. “No, he’s not a werewolf this year. That was funny for all of like thirty seconds anyway. To do it again would have been just downright tacky.”

“So what is he, then?” Derek asked, trying not to sound too eager. Lydia huffed out a laugh in response, and he wondered when the hell a group of freaking teenagers seemed to know more about him than he did.

“He’s… well, he’s-” Scott’s untimely arrival cut her off.

“He’s something closer to home, this year.” Scott handed him a cup of what smelled like rum.

Derek made a face. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He was just about to ask, shooting Lydia a watchful glance as he brought the cup to his lips, remembering her earlier poison comment. Thankfully it smelled nothing like wolfsbane. That was when Scott cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to some point over Derek’s shoulder.

“Lookin’ good, Deputy!” He added a whistle, much to the delight of Allison and Lydia.

“Wha-” Derek turned to look, wondering who Scott was talking to. He really should’ve known that wasn’t the case, given the sudden influx of Stiles’ familiar scent, but his mind didn’t really register it. His throat abruptly closed off at the sight, turning the rest of his question into a high, undignified sound as he damn-near choked on the useless alcohol.

Standing, no, _posing_ behind him was Stiles, wearing the most… _creative_ police officer costume Derek had ever seen. In one of his dad’s borrowed uniform shirts and the tightest, highest pair of matching short-shorts he could’ve possibly found, he stood there, his outfit completed by a fully-functional-looking police utility belt, ridiculously large, cliche aviators, and a Beacon Hills County Sheriff’s badge.

Derek hadn’t really seen anything past the shorts. But he was pretty sure that there were multiple parts of the entire ensemble that were highly illegal. The shorts were chief among those. Not to mention he couldn’t really feel his face. Because _holyshit_ Stiles-thighs. The sight of them, all long and lean, corded with ridges of muscle he usually hid under baggy jeans made Derek _want_. You know, even more than he already did.

As if to bookend his pain, Stiles pulled the glasses low on the bridge of his nose, before throwing a leg up on the nearest ottoman, pulling the obscenely short, ridiculously tight shorts further up his thigh before he strutted, that’s right, _strutted_ over to the group.

“Dude, I totally rock the short-shorts,” he proclaimed, Scott giving him a bro-tastic high-five. Lydia shook her head. “I really should thank Finstock for making us do cross-country this year. That’s the only reason I could pull these off.” He patted a flexed thigh with his hand, and Derek resisted the urge to lick it.

When Scott elbowed him in the side, Derek jumped, not realizing he was still staring at Stiles’ legs. “I can think of a few more reasons,” he answered. Derek could feel his ears go pink. He leveled a quiet growl at Stiles’ best friend.

“Not a word,” he mouthed. Scott just grinned back at him. Derek wished he could go back to the days when he could simply look at any one of these teenagers and they’d be quivering in fear.

But those days were long gone, apparently.

Stiles cocked a confused eyebrow at his best friend. “So what’s up guys?”

“Oh, you know, just Derek’s dick.” Scott shrugged without missing a beat, as Derek choked on another mouthful of rum at the sudden betrayal. Allison and Lydia started giggling. “Have you seen his costume?” He asked, thumbing toward the gagging werewolf.

Stiles flicked a look over the rim of his aviators to Derek, who went suddenly rigid with panic. Well, mostly. Other parts of him had already beaten him there with… other things in mind. Stupid Scott and his stupid heightened senses.

“Well, Hale, what _are_ you supposed to be?” Stiles asked as he turned toward Derek, setting his hands against his hips with a cocky swagger and looking him up and down. “Because from what I can tell you’re-” Derek could literally hear the realization dawn across Stiles’ mind. It sounded like puzzle pieces falling into place. “You’re- You’re _me_. Holy shit.”

Derek could feel the color leave his face as he nodded. “It wasn’t my idea, Lydia made me- I was just-”

Lydia cut him off with an upheld hand. “Look, you two have been dancing around each other since last year, and before Derek stutters his way through this, or you get drunk and cock it up, I-” She didn’t get the rest of the sentence out.

Because in one fluid motion, Stiles was on him, pulling him in by his ears, kissing the truncated, aborted words from his lips. Like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

Meanwhile, Derek’s heart literally ceased to function in his chest. Forget sprinting, or skipping a solitary beat. It literally stopped cold. For a solid second, Derek stood there, frozen, caught between the warm, over-perfect press of Stiles’ lips into his own, and the feeling that he might, at any moment keel over as the blood began to settle in his veins.

Then Stiles flicked a tongue into his mouth, and everything kicked back to life. Derek felt hands slide down to the crook of his jaw, and pull him deeper, until he could taste the human’s scent in their mingled breaths. Hands became arms as they wrapped around Derek’s neck. And he forgot where he was.

That is, until Scott leaned in. “Told you he’d love it,” he whispered, and Derek suppressed a growl. He was thankful when he heard Allison pull at the alpha’s arm and drag him away, Lydia following closely behind. Only when they were thoroughly out of earshot did Stiles pull back from Derek’s lips.

The smile that was curled at their corners was more than Derek could handle.

“So you’ve been- since last year?” He asked, letting his hands slide down to Derek’s arms, fingering at his flannel shirt as if he were wondering whether or not it was his own.

“Yeah,” Derek answered, without realizing how wrecked his voice was. “Ever since your stupid ass got drunk at last year’s Halloween party.” That drew Stiles’ grin even wider.

“Ahh,” he answered. “I should’ve known. Because seriously dude, you’re not very subtle.”

Derek guffawed. “Uh, this coming from the asshole who called me ‘scruffy sourwolf’ and told me he was ‘in prime mating mode’ last year,” (he left that part out before, so sue him) “And then shows up looking like… well, _this_. Not to mention that between then and now, the _entire_ pack found out?”

“Hey, in my defense,” Stiles protested, “I was drunk. Things just sort of slip out when that happens.” He paused. “But you dressed up to look _exactly like me_ this year. You went all out,” he gently turned Derek’s head to the side, running a finger over the drawn-on moles at the back of his jaw. “Holy crap, you even got my moles right.”

“Really?” Derek asked, color slipping across his face again. “Lydia insisted that I got it all wrong.” His hands were wrapped around Stiles’ waist, not keen on letting him go anytime soon.

“Yeah,” Stiles smiled. “Just like me,” he repeated fondly. “Minus the raw sexual magnetism, of course.”

“Says the guy who just hauled off and kissed me three seconds ago.”

“What can I say?” Stiles shrugged, “I’m sexy as fuck. You don’t have anything to do with it, aside from the fact that I Iook really really ridiculously good on you.” Derek growled softly in agreement, and Stiles responded by grinding lightly against him with those should-be-illegal hips in those definitely-illegal shorts. Derek couldn’t help but press back into him, biting into his lower lip to keep himself from devouring the human right then and there.

“You’re one to talk,” he replied, glancing down at the growing bulge in Stiles’ shorts, which left nothing to the imagination as it pressed against Derek’s crotch.

“Hey, I have the right to remain silent,” Stiles retorted, features suddenly flushed. Derek snorted and leaned back in to kiss him. “... Or you know, whatever.”

Okay, so maybe Derek didn’t regret this as much as he thought.

Even later that night, when the Sheriff caught them in the backseat of the cruiser, Stiles’ ridiculous shorts yanked down around one ankle with Derek’s mouth wrapped around his cock, Derek still couldn’t help but think that it could’ve been worse.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And finally, the other parties to blame for this are Whonatural, Goda, ArraFrost, and everyone else that I follow who started hyping up this holiday for me waaaaaaay too early for my own good.
> 
> Seriously. It’s all y’alls fault.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out [watchthewolvesrun](http://watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com/) for all my other Sterek-related meanderings.
> 
> -SK


End file.
